


The Morning After The Last Night of Freedom

by Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: Hangovers From Hell, I made a bloke mate for Irwin, M/M, Scripps is the glue that holds these useless gays together, Stag Nights, mature rating for mentions of drug and alcohol use, messiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24043450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires
Summary: In which the boys suffer the messy after effects from their nights of decadence.Why is there a shoe in the middle of the floor?What happened to Dakin's keys?Exactly how many condoms does it take to stuff a bra?And why did nobody think to use the spare room?Read on for the answers to none of these questions, and more...
Relationships: David Posner/Donald Scripps, Stuart Dakin/Tom Irwin
Comments: 16
Kudos: 16





	The Morning After The Last Night of Freedom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tea_and_Sympathy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_and_Sympathy/gifts), [stuartdakins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuartdakins/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Last Night of Freedom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24002944) by [Gleaming_Spires (cuppaktea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/pseuds/Gleaming_Spires). 



> I feel I should apologise in advance for doing a fic 'inspired' by one of my own, but they just fit together and it's too late to do them as a series so... yeah. This came out of a comment thread involving Tea_and_Sympathy and Stuartdakins, so blame them XD 
> 
> (This would also double as a game of headcanon bingo)
> 
> For reference, I made a best bloke-mate for Irwin: his name is Colin, they met at uni and went on to do teacher training together. He is straight in every respect, was middle aged from birth, unironically wears a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches and corduroy trousers. His idea of a mad night is three pints of bitter and staying up until midnight.
> 
> As usual, drop me love, thoughts, prompts etc below and stay safe lovelies Xx

“Uuuuuuuuuuugh”

The muffled groaning echoes throughout the flat. At least he thinks it’s an echo, only it seems to get louder as he shuffles his painful way to the fridge.

Blinking against the light as he opens the door in need of juice there’s a whimper of agony that is definitely original.

Groping for his sunglasses he carefully, cautiously, oh-so-gently draws the curtains to let in a bit of light.

There’s another groan. It takes him a moment to realise it was him this time.

Fuck it, he can’t be arsed to care. Making his way back to the kitchen and its blessed bounty of hangover cures he trips and falls over a random platform turquoise stiletto that for some reason is in the middle of their living room floor.

Clutching his head and whimpering in pain he picks himself off the carpet.

That’s when he notices the hand protruding from behind the couch. If he were in a more normal frame of mind it would probably give him a shock – as it is he simply accepts it as a feature of this very painful morning. The hand is slim without being feminine, familiar except for the long sharp red nails. He follows the outstretched arm back to behind the couch. Black pleather dress, stockings over hairy legs, a mass of blonde hair fanned out across the carpet in a tangled halo, like seaweed, the face not visible from underneath.

He nudges the body with a socked foot.

“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer”

“Tom?” His voice is a croak after shouting to be heard in smoke-filled clubs all night.

“Noooooooooooooooooooo”

“Tom”

There’s a noise that could be a muffled sob.

“Get up, I’m making a bloody mary”

In the end, he has to bring it behind the sofa. The things he does for love.

“Please” Tom moans from under his wig. “stop crashing about”

“Crashing – I just nearly broke my neck on your bloody shoe. Drink this and stop whining. I’m off for a shower”

The shower is possibly the best experience of his life, until Tom bursts into the bathroom to vomit, turning the water icy as soon he flushes the toilet.

At least he’s up.

Feeling more living than dead, and like there’s no longer a dead rodent in his mouth after showering and brushing his teeth, Stuart dons his sunglasses - he's now able to fully appreciate the sight waiting for him in the living room: Tom is slumped on the sofa, a full face of what was once exquisite makeup smeared out of position across his features.

Stu laughs, taking in the glasses still primly in place over bright wings of eye shadow.

“You look a state” He grins, thankful that the enormous erect penis drawn in permanent marker on his chest and stomach is concealed by his t-shirt. Given the state of him, Tom probably won’t notice before he manages to get it all off.

“What is this?” Grabbing a pencil he uses it to pluck an unrolled condom off the sofa cushion.

In answer, Tom stuffs a hand down his dress and pulls out a fistful of them.

“Cleavage.” He shrugs “There was a penis theme” He gestures to the wig on the floor.

Now that he looks at it closely, it seems to be full of globs of lube and what Stu sincerely hopes is white silly string. There are also nasty stains all down the front of the dress.

“Gross”

“Good night?”

Before he can answer there’s another faint groan from down the hall.

It takes him a minute to work out where it’s coming from.

“Forgot about Scripps. At least I hope it’s Scripps, otherwise I brought some stranger home and made them top and tail with me”

“Just know that if you pulled I’ll kill you”

“Christ then I really hope it’s Scripps, because having someone’s sweaty socks in my face all night was not worth dying over”

“Can I have a glass of water, please?”

“Yeah, get it yourself” He collapses onto the sofa and closes his eyes.

Scripps shuffles in sans trousers as Tom is gulping a pint of Alka seltzer

“Nice nails”

“Oh” remembering them, Tom pulls them off. “They’re only plastic”

“Is it me or does it smell of fish in here?”

Dakin’s laugh goes ignored. “That’s Tom”

“Shut up Stu. But um, it is. Sorry, we got fish and chips about six, I remember because the guy thought I was on the game and gave me a free battered sausage. He was definitely hoping for a blowjob in return”

“You found a chip shop that was open at six am?”

“This is London”

“So you came home, had fish and chips and then fell asleep behind the sofa?" Stu laughs. "Seems logical”

Tom shrugs “There were men in my bed”

“How unlike you to mind”

“I’m a chivalrous drunk”

“...actually, why were we in bed together, Scripps? Not that you're not welcome in my bed, of course”

“It was the logical conclusion to the night…You don’t remember your idiot work mates daring you to go for a swim in the boating lake?”

Dakin shakes his head and then winces.

“…and then Timms stealing your clothes? You were lucky I managed to stop you before you got naked”

“Donald, my hero”

“…Then Lockwood putting them in a taxi and paying the driver to take them to Greenwich…?”

Dakin laughs. “Lucky my keys weren’t in my pockets”

“They were. So was your wallet, remember to cancel all your cards today”

It’s Tom’s turn to laugh.

“Oh, would you get changed?" Stu snaps. "You look like something Peter Sutcliffe would follow home” 

“Dakin, really! Do you mind if I make coffee?”

His request goes ignored so he puts the kettle on anyway.

“I forgot what a charmer you are when you’re hungover” Tom mutters, shifting uncomfortably. He reaches down the front of his dress and pulls a large red thong out of his otherwise empty bra. “I wondered where that went to. Bloody itchy thing”

Stu’s eyes travel quickly up and down his dress. “Are you going commando?”

“Don’t be absurd.” He adjusts his mascara-smeared glasses “It was one of the strippers’. I got to keep it as it was my stag” He grins with delight and throws it at Dakin. It misses by a good foot.

Scripps flicks the kettle off again. “Actually, forget coffee, I don’t know about you two, but I need something greasy. Dakin, you owe me breakfast”

“I could actually do with some food. Stu, come and help me get my dress off”

“Who dragged you up like Cher’s ugly sister then?” Stu quizzes him, as he battles with the zip.

“The girls – we got ready and had a penis party and pre-drinks at Sue’s first”

“What would your girlfriends know about penises?”

“You’d be surprised – really. Could you bring me some face wipes?”

“What did your last slave die of?”

“I have been working very hard all night. Have you any idea how difficult it is to get six lesbians and a primary school teacher into a Soho fetish bar? The lesbians were fine, obviously, but Colin stuck out rather. Still, he did a good job of organising things”

“Six lesbians, a primary school teacher and a drag queen go into a bar…”

“I am not a drag queen, I am just… in drag. And those shoes are murder” He steps out of the dress and gingerly rubs one of his blistered feet.

“Whose number is that?”

“What?”

“There’s a phone number on your leg…”

Tom cranes around to glimpse the number scrawled in sharpie above his stocking tops.

“No idea…. Someone in the strip joint maybe? or the club? Might have been the one with the gimp mask…”

“Exactly how many blokes wrote on your arse?”

“I am too hungover for all these questions” he sighs, stepping into the shower. “Why is Scripps here?”

“Shouldn’t he be?”

“I mean: why just him, what happened to the others?”

Stu shrugs. “My memory’s hazy of everything past leaving the strip club wearing a pair of knickers on each ear”

“How come you’re so functional?” Dakin croaks at Scripps

They're slumped around a table in the darkest corner of the local caff, Dakin’s sunglasses firmly in place, and Tom squinting against the glare of daylight from filtering through the dirty windows.

“Because I follow the rules” Scripps tuts, stirring sugar into his coffee

“Nobody told me there were any. Put that spoon down will you? The clinking is unbearable”

“They’re simple enough: one - drink water sometimes, two – know when you’ve had enough, and three – don’t take any of whatever Timms brings along. You broke all of them as remember”

“I don’t remember much of anything”

“You enjoyed yourself though?” Scripps bites his fingernail nervously and frowns.

“I think so: booze, curry, stripper, more booze, sleazy strip bar – stag night achieved. Good work, Scrippsy” Stu claps him on the back, weakly. 

“I’m just relieved it’s over with. I have never been more of a feminist, I’m actually going to do a column on it”

Stu glances at Tom over the top of his sunglasses. “He loved it really”

“I… really didn’t”

“You organised it”

“Because, loath as I am to say it, you’re my best mate too”

“You liked the other stripper though. Probably not going to write a sanctimonious piece on that, are you?” Stu grins, nudging him with his elbow

Scripps blushes “I’m not the only one who enjoyed it, I have photos!”

“Oh, I loved it, but I’m not on my high horse about being above the rest of the night”

“Do I even want to know?” Tom asks weakly, nibbling on some plain toast.

“Standard muscle man dressed as a fireman, big hose, hard hat, dancing to you can leave your hat on – he didn’t though – I got to wear it” Stu grins ear to ear.

“Wear it? You tried to steal it”

“It suited me!”

Tom levels him a look that’s reminiscent of them having handed him particularly boring essays. “The Full Monty, Scripps, really?”

Instead of the embarrassment they might have felt once upon a time, however, they both blink back at him, confused as to why he would even question it.

“We’re from Sheffield” Stu says

“It’s a requirement” Scripps agrees.

“How stupid of me not to realise. When did you get back?”

Stuart looks at Scripps for confirmation “’Bout…half four, I reckon”

“I wonder how you got in”

Scripps holds a hand up. “That was me, sir”

“You’re the best mate ever” Dakin folds him in a clumsy hug that’s really more like a headlock.

“Thanks, Stu, although to be honest, I’ve heard enough of that to last me a lifetime. You insisted that me and Pos give you a chair ride to our place so we could get the spare keys. When we refused to carry you. you sat down in a puddle in the middle of the road and refused to move. In the end, I had to give you a piggyback for the last mile. My back is wrecked. For some reason, David decided not to accompany you back out again”

“What a mate, eh?”

“Yeah, to be honest, I just felt it was the responsible thing to make sure you didn’t choke on your own vomit. That and none of the taxi drivers would have you”

Stu's smile is proud. “When did you get home? We didn't hear you”

Tom rubs his chin, his hand coming away orange with foundation, in spite of the shower and a bag of wipes “ … the rave broke up about five”

“A rave?”

“Yeah” He grins. “It was Colin’s idea”

“Colin, as in your mate from uni?”

“What’s so strange about that? A stag night is traditionally organised by one’s closest male friend”

“He’s a primary school teacher from Weston-Super-Mare is what’s strange about it. He isn’t someone who comes to mind when I think of MDMA and a mosh pit in an abandoned warehouse”

“Exactly, think of how boring his life is…he enjoyed the freedom”

“I wonder how he even heard of raves” He turns to Scripps. “You’ll meet Tom’s mate at the wedding. He is the most straight-laced person in the world. I expect he wore a tweed jacket to this rave?”

“…We pretended it was ironic” Tom mutters.

Stu laughs so hard he snorts coffee out of his nose and Scripps has to pat him on the back until he starts weeping softly and asks him to stop.

“One of the girls managed to get some pink glitter on him”

“I love posh boarding school boys. I can’t wait for his speech”

“Our school wasn’t ‘posh’”

Scripps watches them for a bit: wincing at every jangle of the bell above the door, snarking back and forth at each other in hoarse whispers, punctuated with groans of pain, over the definition of a posh education.

“I am so glad I never had one of these, I spared myself broken feet, bruises, credit fraud and the worlds worst hangover”

“You’re mad. You’ve got to have a last night of freedom”

“I like Pos, I don’t see our marriage as imprisonment”

Dakin rolls his eyes. “oh, save it for your column” He snaps, taking a bite out of his toast.

Once Scripps has gone home, the rest of the day is spent sprawled on the sofa together dozing in front of terrible sixties Westerns and working their way through a packet of paracetamol.

“You’re not trapping me, you know” Stu murmurs during an ad break “…. Not figuratively, anyway” He shifts Tom’s leg off his chest a fraction, eliciting a wince as he accidentally touches a sore patch on his foot “sorry”

The only response to this is a soft snore. Stu drops a kiss on his ankle and turns back to John Wayne.


End file.
